A Ring Bearer's Lament
by NickeltheRed
Summary: "Frodo's blood suddely burned within his veins at the very thought. It was the One Ring Samwise wanted to keep in his reach—" A hidden scene of the saga, right after Frodo and Sam set forth on their own. One night, Frodo doubts his friend's loyalty and ponders the true power the One Ring. Re-edited.


**Original storyline and rights belong to J. R. R. Tolkien.**

**Reviews are openly welcomed. Thanks to all readers.**

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The sun was disappearing behind the misted mountaintops and the nightly hours had settled in once again. A choir of insects started to hum as the two Hobbits crossed their way over a series of sand dunes. Their feet became blistered by the wasteland grains and their throats finally felt their driest with the lack of water. It had been about four days since he and Samwise were parted from the fellowship. What was more, the creature, Gollum wasn't so far behind them.

The Hobbit with the Ring on his person seemed especially quiet that night, though his mind was endlessly racing with various uncertainties.

Like why had Samwise insisted on following him to no end? How could he even do that to himself? He should have remained under Aragorn's gaurd. Sam also nearly drowned in the river, trying stop his canoe. It was certainly a heart shattering moment—and horridly thoughtless. Samwise knew it was not his task, but oh no—the fool that he really was, chose encompany him nevertheless.

Frodo shook his troubled head and he paused, picking up on a strange sound. But it only happened to be Samwise yawning loudly. He appeared just as drowsy now, the Ring bearer noted. Could Sam be a nuisance? Could he falter his travel?

Maybe…just maybe…it would have been far better if Sam _had_ drowned. As his good friend, Frodo knew that Sam didn't deserve this sort of affliction thrust upon him.

He watched Samwise wipe his weary eyes, stop abruptly, and then reel around when he did not hear his master's footsteps shuffle along with his own. "Is everything alright, Mister Frodo?" he asked, with the usual concern swimming in his voice.

However in short, Frodo granted him, "Let's make camp here."

Sam was puzzled by his master's current bluntness. Although he wouldn't dare to initiate an argument. Not now, of all times. Thus, while spreading out his cloak over the rocks to rest on, he replied, "Good night, Mister Frodo."

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Sam had fallen into slumber easily even before the moon reached its highest point against the stars—unlike Frodo, who still sat up straight and was well enough awake.

His blue eyes eventually locked onto his snoring companion as his mind's dark melody went back into play.

There just had to be a reason as to why Samwise vowed to serve him unconditionally. And it could've been because of some simple promise he made to the others. He must have been planning something...something…_something_….

Why else would anyone in their sober mind sacrifice everything to be _here,_ in _this_ position? Sam could have gone home, back to his beloved Rosie Cotton. Back to the Shire, the one place where they could always smell merriment in the air.

Samwise disregarded that slim chance of a life in order to be with him...with _it?_

Frodo's blood suddely burned within his veins at the very thought. _That was it, wasn't it?!_ It was the One Ring Samwise wanted to keep in his reach. He was now some sort of agent, a spy, undergoing a mission in which their former comrades had organized days before…all beyond his own knowledge….

So, they did not trust him to carry on alone with the Ring after all, eh?

On pure instinct, Frodo's fist enclosed tightly around the golden band hanging low from his neck. No,_ he_ was the one who had to be selective in whom he gave his trust out to. In all truth, must he trust Samwise fully? All be damed, the Ring came to _him! _Everything takes course within its own reason and it became his responsibility only.

Frodo had learned this lesson from the wise Elven Witch herself: to be a bearer of one Ring of Power is to be alone.

He reclosed his eyes afterwards, feeling the Ring pulse steadily against his palm. Soon the distant chants of the Ancient voices filled his ears. With this the Ring grew warmer, and he felt a sudden surge of heated power.

_"Traitor...traitor...traitor...traitor...!" _Frodo finally managed to make out.

Stealthily, cautiously, soundlessly, Frodo drew Sting from its sheath buckled at his waist, currently crawling for Sam's heaving form.

When he reached the second Hobbit, he raised and angled his arm upwards so the blade's point was directly above Sam's familiar calm features.

He could never afford to travel with a spy...

And a minute passed, then another. Frodo remained like this for some time.

And it wasn't until Sam grunted further and rolled over onto his opposite side, did Frodo blink in attempt to clear his conscience.

...Wait, what was he going to do exactly? He could not rid himself of Samwise through these means, not ever. He held the courage not to even do so.

The One Ring must have been enlisting these harsh judgments into his head. He would just have to learn to mask these kind of inner disturbances, before he'd be lost in total obscurity forever. Frodo at last understood that the One Ring's spiteful influence was ever present—it was measured, unforseen, inconspicuous and cunning; but surely it was already winding through him.

He just would be forced to see what the upcoming tomorrows would bring.

If...he'd even be there to greet them, that is.

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**I wrote this piece years ago, just for a bit of Psychology fun is all. I hope it's to the viewer's liking, thanks once more!**


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